


(With the beast inside) There's nowhere we can hide

by Akira14



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, some spoilers for S4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akira14/pseuds/Akira14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Beacon Hills pack rain on a warlock's parade, the man makes sure that the two responsible of ruining his fun - Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale - get what they deserve.</p><p>Based on prompt at MaridiChallenge, for Santa Pasqua Fest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(With the beast inside) There's nowhere we can hide

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first dub-con, a kind of fic that I personally love and I hope I did it justice.

“A wizard? A honest to God ‘just graduated from Hogwarts and pulling pranks because I can’ wizard?” While it might be the most logical explanation – and that’s Beacon Hills to you, now, where the supernatural is behind pretty much anything that turns to shit - to the havoc he has caused over the last few weeks, Stiles still has trouble wrapping his head around that.

“A warlock, actually. A young man who can perform spells without wands or anything of the sort. Who does not need human sacrifices either, because he simply has to channel from natural forces the power required for any hex. I guess it’s safe to say that he’s also amazingly good at it, seeing that he was strong enough to curse you and Derek in ways that are still unclear to me. Maybe he was trying to tap into your darkest instincts, by forcing you to experience unbearable pain when you are farther than 6 feet away from each other?”

“Probably.” It does make sense that, to avoid soiling his hands with their blood he would drive them to do the dirty work for him. Too bad that, as much as Derek grumpiness and distrust annoy him, he would never kill another man. He is pretty sure it’s the same for Derek. He hopes so.

“Anyway. Not the point. Wizard, warlock, trickster, emissary… It’s all just semantics. Isn’t it?”  
“No, it isn’t. Is that what you said to him, Stiles? Because that could have been enough for him to curse you.” Deaton shoots him a rather enigmatic glance, something between incredulity and exasperation, maybe?

“Of course I didn’t say that to his face. I might be weak compared to our hairy friends, but I not stupid Deaton.” He snaps back, more than a little offended by the implication that he could have been so careless. We’re talking about someone who targeted innocent people for what? Looking at him in a funny way? Bumping into him without noticing? Existing? I didn’t know who exactly we were dealing with, but we were aware that he was out of his mind. I mean, he was nearly made Isaac kill Kira and me so that ‘he could be with Scott forever and ever’.”  
“Are you telling me that you didn’t say a word, Stiles?” There was no skepticism in his tone. Stiles could have lied, and told him that he kept his mouth shut . Hence, he goes for the truth.  
“Not exactly. When Derek got all growly and threatening, and Scott was out his depth trying to find not to shed a single drop of blood but unwilling to let the guy keep playing games with Isaac’s mind I might have jumped in to give him a warning. To tell him that we do not forgive those who meddle with our pack and that, if he wished to get out from Beacon Hills in one piece - yeah, we are above murder but I certainly didn’t mind breaking a few bones while Derek clawed that smirk off his face) – then he all to do was undoing whatever he did to Isaac. Because thanks to you we knew that he could snap Lahey out of his obsession with Scott. Yeah, I know it was quite a risk to bluff like that but it did work. Turned out he used some kind of poison – though now, knowing he was a wizard-warlock-whatever, it must have been a potion – and Scott forced him to cook up an antidote. Once we made sure Isaac was actually back to his normal infuriating self we went separate way. That’s it.”

Stiles sighs, taking a breath after his fucking long sum-up of the events involving the warlock.  
Deaton arched his eyebrows, feeling there must be something the boy was not telling him. Once, he would have let it go and waited for Stiles to understand on his own that keeping secrets could have deadly consequences in a city like Beacon Hills. But that was before the nogitsune. Secrecy, now, is a luxury that cannot be afforded.

“That’s it? He nearly drove Isaac insane, he messed up with an awful lot of people’s heads, wrecked the city with fires, earthquakes and floods for fun and then he just leaves because a couple of teens are intimidating him with fangs, claws and a bat? Forgive me for thinking you must have left something out.”  
“Well, I didn’t. I blacked out as soon as Mr. Scira&Sciles-are-my-Notps handed the antidote to Scott. Same goes for Derek, so don’t bother asking him.” Stiles insists, clinging to the hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t like the idea of Deaton questioning the werewolf, looking for answers that Derek can’t give. He feels an irrational urge to protect him, to shelter him from any kind of trouble. When he gives in to that impulse, besides, the pain in his chest and in his left arm – where the warlock has left the mark of his curse – lessens remarkably. He can tell that it’s mutual and it’s not like it hurts anybody, so why shouldn’t he indulge to that yearning?

Derek nods, before adding a terse response to Deaton’s inquiries. “If we recall something useful, you will be the first to know. It’s not like either of us loves the idea of being attached to the hip. The sooner we get this curse broken, the better.” His grip on Stiles’ shoulders tightens, mindful of how his words must have hurt the boy. They hurt him too, but they were necessary to stop Deaton from probing further. For the time being, at least. It works: the emissary reluctantly lets them go.

As soon as they’re out, however, they’ve got the rest of the pack to deal with. A fretful Kira, an inquisitive Scott, a pissed off Malia – who sure is bitter about having her date with Liam, the Jackson 2.0. who even has his own Danny 2.0. and is a werewolf too – and a mildly preoccupied Lydia. The ‘do I look like I give a fuck?’ vibes exuding from Isaac are pretty much a blessing, at this point. If only such an attitude was shared by the rest of the group, then he and Derek could have been away from prying eyes already. They could have been touching, cuddling even, to ease a craving that is getting harder and harder to ignore.  
They are forced to their friends, instead, telling them that it’s nothing serious. Assuring them that the fainting in the woods was just the result of a desperate, and failed, attempted to hit them both with some kind of spell, curse, or whatever. Swearing that they’re going to be fine.

“We all saw him whispering something in your ear, Stiles. Something he felt the need to shield from supernatural hearing.” Lydia points out, knowing all too well the tendency to lie by omission that they all share. Stiles included. “What was that about? That jerk looked quite pleased with himself, despite being forced to leave.”  
“I don’t remember. It’s all kind of a blur after he grabbed my forearm.” He shrugs his shoulders and bites his lips, trying not to show how sorry he is about giving her such a deceitful answer.  
“Stiles, please…” Scott pleads, seeing right through his act, while Malia and Isaac glowered at him for being so foolishly reticent about giving them the details of the warlock’s curse.

“Stiles said he doesn’t remember, Scott.” Derek snarls, taking them all aback. It’s been a while since they’ve heard him use such a hostile tone with the young Alpha. He sounds like he is one step away from ripping everyone’s throats with his teeth. So Stiles takes Derek’s hand, the one that Derek had just been tightening into a fist behind his back, and intertwines their fingers. A small, thoughtful, gesture that really seems to calm Derek down. Enough for him to talk, instead of giving vent to his aggressiveness.  
“Don’t you trust him?” He asks to the teen wolves and humans, glaring at them for doubting their friend. If he can leave this alone until Stiles Is ready to talk about it, why can’t they do the same?  
“Of course I do!” Scott barks back, more than a little outraged.  
“Never doubted it, buddy.” Stiles reassures him, slapping a hand on his back. Strangely, it feels wrong to have his hands on Scott instead of Derek. He retreats his hand immediately. If his friend noticed something, he doesn’t mention it.

“Well, some of us did all the dirty work, so… I don’t know about you all, but I’d really love to crash in my bed and sleep until next week. You don’t mind giving me a lift, do you Derek?”

Of course he doesn’t mind. Does he really have a choice, when all he wants is getting closer to Stiles?  
Nope.  
“Yes, I do mind, Stilinski. You are giving me a lift. There’s no way I am going to let you wreck yet another one of my cars.” He manages to answer, hoping it would be enough not to give away his current true feelings towards the boy.  
“You are not making any sense, Hale! I wouldn’t be even driving!”  
“You weren’t driving the Camaro either. Still, all it took for you to obliterate it was being a passenger. Not taking that chance again, Stiles. Lead the way.”

They drop the bickering facade as soon as they are in the parking lot, away from indiscreet listeners.

“Hey, we can actually take my car… If that’s what you want.” Derek mutters, lingering around his Toyota. He doesn’t want Stiles to think that he doesn’t trust him. Or that he really blames him for the Camaro’s misfortunes. Otherwise he wouldn’t have backed up his lie twice. The warlock did say something to him.  
Derek might have not heard it, but he can feel it. Still, Stiles must have his good reason to keep it to himself. He’s gonna respect that.

“No, it’s good. I think Roscoe would prefer to be left in your parking lot than here, so... Let's go.”

*****************************

The ride back home is quiet and quite uneventful. They did almost crash into a tree, 'cause Stiles had to touch Derek's thigh while making his point about the danger brought upon them by the curse. Counts as a win, though, since Derek agreed and then drove on like nothing happened.

"You're right." He said, and Stiles wished he had something to record this incredible moment. "And that's why we are gonna let the others investigate about the way to break it. The best we can do, now, is stay put. Reducing the risks by locking ourselves in my apartment. Wait and see if it wears off, eventually."  
"What? No!" Stiles moved his fingers from Derek's leg to his waist, easing his hand underneath the fabric to caress bare unblemished skin. He kinda wanted to hear more of the gravelly voice coming up with shitty plans, but there was no time to waste. They won't be able to resist much longer. They are doing a poor job about it, already.  
"Who are you and what have you done to the Derek Hale I know, who would most definitely not sit around and wait for the worst to come? We should do something about it, while we still can."  
"Can you? Because I am not so sure." He gripped the steering wheel so tight that he almost tore it off. Stiles stared at the indents Derek left and decided to shut up. Until they were not risking to kill themselves in a road accident, at least.

That would be now, right?  
Derek has just slid the door closed, and there's a working laptop that he can use for his research - Sam Winchester find pretty much anything on the Internet, so why shouldn't he? - plus a whole shelf of books lent by Deaton, Mr. Argent and even Peter, at his disposal.  
He lingers near the bookcase, brushing his fingertips against the ancient volumes' spines as if they were Derek's backbone. He can't help but looking at him, who is far too distant despite the fact that he is leaning against the bookcase itself and that's, like, barely two feet away from Stiles himself.  
Damn, it's getting worse. It itches, it hurts and both of them are running out of good reasons not to give in.  
Stiles has to remind himself that they are trying to break the pattern, having noticed that even the lightest touch will inevitably lead to a heavy make out session and tearing each other clothes off.  
Which would be bad, because... ?  
It can't be worse than making out with a girl, in the basement of a mental institution, while being possessed by a nogistune, can it?  
Except maybe it is, because this is Derek. By surrendering to the curse, Stiles would be no better than Kate or Jennifer, would he?  
"I can hear you think." Derek growls, walking towards him and pushing his back against the shelves. "Stop it."  
Stiles is about to say something back, but Derek silences whatever objection he could have had with a kiss. A hungry, bruising, bone melting kiss that absurdly feels like finally taking a breath after being underwater for way too long.

You know what?  
Screw being the better man. Screw being a man, really, when he is just a boy. He might be under a spell, but so is Derek. Otherwise, he wouldn't have kissed him, right? He wouldn't be dropping to his knees - and even the chafe of his beard against Stiles' inner thighs is kinda hot to Stiles... and that's a sign of being cursed, isn't it? - ready to suck him dry.  
He just hopes Derek knows what he is doing, because this is his first blow-job ever and while he has always pictured Lydia - not Jackson, not ever, despite his cock-sucking lips - going down on him, it doesn't mean that it can't be good. Really, it would be a pity if...

Woah. Oh, well, this is not gonna last long if Derek hums around his length while taking as much of him as he can - which is a lot, nearly all, and that seems to suggest that this isn't his first time and well, that's something worth filing under 'things that I need to know A LOT more about, but not right now' - and doesn't even try to hold him down, so that Stiles can mindlessly fuck his mouth.  
The thought of someone much more powerful than he is, at least when it concerns physical strength, lowering all his defenses so that Stiles can be the one in control... That alone would be enough to make him come in just a couple of minutes. Derek's skillfulness helps too, of course.  
And when he does come, Derek swallows his cum to the very last drop and Stiles is quite certain that this must be Heaven – or a smutty kind of Hell, for all he knows and he really doesn't care – and he doesn't want to be back on Earth. Like, ever.

"Brain still working, Stilinski?" He asks, grinning. His bunny teeth are so blinding that it takes a while for Stiles to recover (as if the fucking amazing orgasm he just had wasn't enough).  
"Yep. Hardly, though. All I can think about, now, are the many ways you're gonna fuck me. Or the many times that I am gonna fuck you."

Their poor attempts not to give in, which lasted for just about half a hour from the moment they were on their own, seem even more foolish now.   
It could have taken weeks for it to finally wear off or for Deaton to find a way to break it.  
Succumbing to the curse's power, instead, gives it a time-limit.

'All day... and all night.' As whispered in his ear by the warlock himself, to be more specific.   
Most likely that twisted, weird and bizarre individual hoped they would rather kill themselves than be slave to their instincts.   
He probably didn't expect them to actually give in, with just a modicum of regret.  
Or maybe he did know this would happen. Perhaps, he thought that Derek and Stiles are meant to be and this is his way to redeem himself and us his power for the greater good.  
Does it matter?   
Hell no. Not when he's busy stealing the breath out of Derek's lungs with his lips.

When all of this will be over, naturally, he might reconsider his current position. Chalk it up to a mistake, agreeing with Derek that they better pretend it was just a fantasy. A very vivid and pleasurable, but still no more than a fantasy.  
For the time being, however, they will enjoy it.  
Every fucking a minute of it. Well, they are not in a rush so they better use the time that has be given to commit every detail to their memory.  
Because it will never happen again.  
It can't.   
He's got Lydia. Derek, well, he barely tolerates him and would have never laid a finger on him if it wasn't for the curse.  
It's for the best, really.

******************************

 

Derek is the first to wake up, still sore and out of breath. That's right: even werewolf stamina has its limits, and sex with Stiles drained it all. He never wants to leave this couch - how come they didn't made it to the bed in twelve hours it's kind of a mystery - and neither should Stiles, but... He has no other choice.  
Despite all the reassurances they've been giving each other - "Are you sure I'm not forcing you?", "Do you want this?", "We won't blame each other for this, ok?" and so on and so forth - Stiles will probably have a panic attack by waking up, covered only by a ratty blanket and next to an equally naked Derek. 

Given that the guy has only eyes for Lydia Martin, and seems to have given up on Malia ever since he's heard she is a Hale too (out of an understandable, and admirable, self-preservation instinct), he surely wants to forget this ever happened.  
The least he can do is making it easier for him, starting from gathering his clothes scattered all around his flat and leaving them next to his sleeping form. Then calling Scott to let him know that you they got rid from the curse. Yeah, they don't know how it happened, it just did... can he come and drive Stiles home? Okay.  
Ending with a note, written hastily and reluctantly, where Derek asks him to be gone before he come back. Adding a PS that says 'This doesn't mean you are exonerated from the next pack's meeting, Stiles. See you there.'  
He doesn't want to, but he has to.  
It's for the best, really.


End file.
